Can Haz Cat!

In a recent post, I wrote about how my husband and I were kind of stuck in a netherworld of wanting another cat, but of not feeling ready.

Last weekend we took a trip to the SPCA to test the waters.  By that point I felt I was ready, but my husband didn't.  Then, we met our cat.  It was a cat I had seen before but never visited; every time I saw her, she already had a visit tag for that day, so I needed to visit cats who hadn't been visited.  But I felt like I wanted to get to know her better.  I liked the way she looked at me -- as if she knew me.

She's still adjusting, of course, but still seems very different from our previous two cats.  She doesn't say much, for instance, even when she's hungry (our other cats would wail and complain, and when we told them they'd have to wait for dinner time, they'd start nipping our feet).  However, she's a sweet kitty and is already proving herself to be a lap cat.

I knew that cats were an important part of my self-care, but I'd forgotten how much.  Since the arrival of SC, my anxiety levels have plummeted by a factor of ten, at least.  I'm less depressed.  I'm more hopeful.  I don't just love cats, I need cats.

So Much for Inner Peace

In a recent post I wrote about feeling a sense of acceptance for my lot in life.  My dead cat, my troubled relationship.  That sense of acceptance has come and gone since then, but mostly gone.

I've been really moody this week.  OK, one day it was because I forgot to take my meds, but still ... someone asked how I was doing and I started crying about my cat.  They didn't even ask about my cat.  Yet, I was in tears, and could barely speak.  Yesterday I felt tearful as well.

I wasn't quite this bad after Piglet died.  I suspect it was because I still had CC there to comfort me.  I'm stuck in a crappy place where my partner and I aren't ready for another cat, but not having one is driving me crazy.  I'm afraid I'll meet the perfect cat before we're ready, and also terrified that I'll never bond with another cat as long as I live.  

Anxiety and an Empty House

After my volunteer shift at the animal shelter yesterday I started feeling anxious.  My gig involves socializing with cats, which I love ... and yesterday, also gauging my comfort level with the idea of getting a new cat.

Yes, my kitty has only been gone for five days.  It's too soon for me, and my poor husband was out of town when CC was euthanized, so he still needs to process the fact that she's really gone.  Nonetheless, I want to start thinking having cats in our family once again.  The house is just so fucking empty right now.

What I can't tell is whether I'm anxious because I started imagining myself with other cats, or because of the empty house.  Every time I hear a noise, I think "Oh, that's CC".  Only it's not CC, and it never will be.  That's one of the things about grief though; always thinking you see the deceased out of the corner of your eye, or hearing them in the other room, or thinking that they're on the couch or upstairs or wherever.


This experience made me realize that I've never been alone in my own house before.  I've always had cats, ever since I moved into my own place at the age of 20.  For that matter, I got Piglet and CC at that time.  They've never not been here.  One or the other was always on my lap, or sitting on the couch with me, or hanging out in the next chair.  One or the other was usually talking to me.  It's never been this quiet before, and I'm really having a hard time with it.  Of course, I could take the Xanax my pdoc prescribed me, but I'm already on so many goddam drugs, and for some reason Xanax scares me.


So until we're ready for another cat, I may just have to live with anxiety.

The Other Shoe Drops: RIP CC the Cat

Ever since I lost my first kitty in March, I've been terrified that my other cat was soon to follow.  I felt like she was the one thing I had left to lose, and I keep experiencing horrible loss.  It didn't help that she went and developed hyperthyroidism.  But then the meds seemed to help her for a good few months.  And then last week she started seriously throwing up again.

They vet ran her blood work, which had been normal the week before, and found some pretty bad liver numbers.  They were, the vet said, consistent with a liver tumor or lymphoma.  I guess hyperthyroidism can mask these conditions.

Given that CC was 18, I was not going to put her through chemo or surgery.  I elected for palliative care.  That was Thursday.  On Saturday I had to put her to sleep.

I'm coping with this better than I coped with Piglet's death.  I think it's because it's not the same roller-coaster, where she was at death's door several times and then bounced back.  CC had a normal life right up until her last hours.

But damn, how I miss her, and how quiet and empty the house feels without cats.

The Twists and Turns of Bereavement

Since my cat died last week, her absence has been a palpable presence.  I could feel that she was gone every minute of every day.  I knew she was nowhere in the house, not upstairs on the bed, not downstairs on one of the couches, not out in the yard doing whatever it is cats do outside.

I talked to my mother recently, and she said something along the lines of "It's hard, because I bet you keep waiting for her to walk into the room, keep seeing her out of the corner of your eye."  "No", I thought, because of that absence.

Now it's been almost a week, and suddenly I'm right where my mom thought I was.  I don't see Piglet anywhere -- she must be upstairs.  But wait, no she isn't; she'll never be upstairs again.  Wait a minute, she's not lounging on the couch; she'll never be lounging on the couch again.  She must be outside -- no, she's not.  She'll never again be outside, doing whatever it is cats do there.

Funny how grief works.  When I lost my grandparents (3 out of 4 now) I would be at their house and expect them to come in from the kitchen, to come down the hall, to come down the stairs.  I didn't feel their absence because I hadn't processed it yet.  Maybe this is because the lived far away from me and I couldn't process it.  Maybe it was different for those that lived with them.

I'm in a slightly different place with my grief right now, but mostly the same place -- I miss my cat awfully and I wish I could haev her back, alive and healthy and purring in my lap.

Losing a Pet

Yesterday afternoon we had to say goodbye to Piglet, our loving and faithful kitty of 17 years.  She was a real sweetheart.  She was always there for me when I needed comforting.  If she were here now she'd be on my lap purring and letting me cry into my fur.

Losing a pet just sucks.  Part of it is the lack of understanding on the part of non-pet-owners; they may be sympathetic, but in a lot of cases you can see that in the back of their minds they're thinking, "it's just an animal".  It's their loss.

It also sucks that animals can't tell us how they're feeling.  I don't know if Piglet was in pain in her last days.  For that matter, I don't know why she wasn't eating for the last two months.  I couldn't ask her what was going on, whether there was a food she wanted or could tolerate, or where the discomfort was.

The biggest part of the suckage, though, is the foreknowledge of the loss.  I wished so much that Piglet would just stop breathing and peacefully slip away.  I hated calling and making an appointment for her death.  Knowing that we had until 3 pm to spend time with our cat was a hard thing.  On the other hand, her last few hours were clearly hard, so it was also a relief when the vet showed up.  That also sucked.

Now I go back to a life where I'm not spending half my time and energy feeding my cat.  I have to adjust to not having her in the house.  If she were her right now, she'd be in my lap, purring, letting me dry my tears in her fur.  My other cat, CC, has a shit-ton of personality, but sweetness and comfort aren't really in it.  I lost the most comforting thing in my life yesterday.  And there are no two ways about it.  It just sucks.

FML: More Impending Loss

A few weeks ago I rejoiced to learn that Piglet, my feline companion of nearly seventeen years, does not, in fact, have cancer.  She has IBS, which caused fatty liver disease.  If a feeding tube were put in, and she could tolerate the food, she could make a full recovery.

Well, she can't tolerate the food.  Even though it's food she tolerated a few weeks ago.  Even though it's bland as hell.

Obviously, a cat who can't eat isn't going to make it.  I've decided to stop all procedures, like the feedings and the subcutaneous fluids, because they're only making her miserable (she's actually started hiding from me for the first time in her long life).  I don't want our last days together to be filled with me doing things to her.  The only meds I'm continuing are the anti-nausea and anti-inflammatory drugs that are likely to make her more comfortable.

This was a tough decision, but it helps that I have the strong sense that Piglet is just Over It.  She's ready to go.  That makes it only slightly less devastating.  This cat has been a loyal and loving companion for nearly 17 years.  She's the sweetest and most easygoing cat I've ever met; if you wanted her on your lap, you just put her there and she'd settle in.  But chances were she was on someone's lap anyway.

I could always count on Piglet to support me when I was sad or upset.  She'd bump her head on my arm or my leg, rub against me, and generally carry on cute until I at least had to smile.  Then she'd crawl into my arms and purr until I felt better.

She's no longer well enough to do that, and I think the feeding tube makes it difficult for her to purr.  But she's still nestled nest to me on the couch, providing what comfort she can.  I can't imagine my life without that love.

I've lost so much in the past two years.  I lost what I thought was a promising job.  I lost my mind and my mental health, and therefore the sense of efficacy I'd worked so hard to build throughout my adult life.  But hey, I thought to myself, at least my relationship is strong.  Then, last fall, my marriage crashed onto the rocks.  I thought to myself at least I've got my cats.  I also thought, but they're old ... and the way things have been going lately ... they're two of the few things I have left to lose.  And now I'm losing one of them.

FML.

My kitty is going to be OK!

I wrote a few days ago that my cat was very very sick, and I was expecting the worst.  Turns out it's only IBS.  She's on prednisone, an anti-inflammatory that will also make her hungrier, and I need to get her to eat bland food like simply-prepared chicken.

This is such a load off my mind.  Of course, a lot of my time is still spent trying to entice my cat to eat, which is time consuming and frustrating, but now that I know she's improving it doesn't make me as incredibly sad as I was a few days ago.  My mood has improved by a factor of a hundred.  So has my motivation.

Big sigh of relief!

Motivational Problems: (Or: My Life Keeps Getting Worse)

My cat is probably dying.

A few weeks back she lost her appetite, then seemed to regain it.  Since returning home from my trip, however, she's no longer eating.  Within 24 hours I was in the vet's office.  My cat, who's been 16 lbs most of her life, is now 8 lbs.

The vet recommended an x-ray, but the results, like the results of the blood panel and the urinalysis, showed nothing wrong.

Great news, right?  Not so much.  When you've got a cat who's obviously as sick as mine -- all that loss of weight and apetite -- you're probably looking at cancer.  The next step is to get a second opinion from an internal medicine specialist.  They would probably do an ultrasound, which would cost about $600, and be one more traumatic experience for my poor kitty.  Since I have yet to talk to anyone who's had a good experience giving their cat chemo, I would probably opt for palliative care.  I'll be talking to the specialist about this.

In the mean time, I've felt really unmotivated.  I need to clean the house, because it looks like a tornado threw up on it.  I need to sell some crap on Craigslist.  I need to work on my stained glass project.

I wondered if my meds needed adjusting, if somehow they'd started to fight with each other ... and then I realized: I am motivated to do one thing, and just one.  I am motivated to spend quality time with my cat.  I will sit on the couch for as long as she wants me to.  That's my motivation right now.

Weekly Gratitude: My Cats, and Cats In General

Fair Warning: I love cats.  I've loved cats for as long as I can remember.  I am a cat person.  In this post, I gush about my own cats at length.  If you're a crazy cat person, read on.  If you're not, this post may make you roll your eyes at the sentimentality of cat people and go talk baby talk to your poodle, Fifi.

This week I'm giving gratititude for my cats.

There are a lot of things I love about my cats.  They're both incredibly well-behaved, with never a litter box problem from either one of them.  They don't shred the furniture.  They don't bite or scratch.  For that matter, neither one of them has even so much as hissed at me in the 16 years we've lived together.  They really are great cats.

I really, truly enjoy my cats' personalities.  They differ dramatically from each other, and complement each other perfectly.  First, there's Piglet, a mellow, affectionate, 16 lb Maine Coon mix.  If I want a cat in my lap, I can just pick her up and put her there, and she'll start purring like a motorboat.  For that matter, she likes being picked up and held on her back like a baby (most cats hate this), and purrs like a motorboat the whole time.  My husband can position her on his chest and fall asleep with his arm around her, and she'll stay there for hours ... purring like a motorboat.  She even allows herself to be used as a pillow.  Did I mention she purrs like a motorboat?

Fortunately, Piglet is so mellow that she doesn't mind being bossed by our other, much smaller cat.  CC is a 9 lb blue tabby.  If she even looks at Piglet in a certain way, Piglet will make a long detour to go around her.  If both cats were dominant personalities their relationship would be a real problem.  But Piglet is happy to back off when CC gets obstreperous.  The cats aren't friends, but they live in peaceful, mutual tolerance.

As for CC can be affectionate, but it's always on her own terms.  She expects obedience from her human minions.  The back door is opened when she asks (she trained me to open it when she rings a bell on a scratchy toy that hangs from the doorknob).  She demands a certain amount of play time every day.  She's sparing in her affection, but if she wants some lap time, she simply takes over my lap.  If she doesn't want cuddle time, there will be no cuddle time.  Until she wants cuddle time again.  Which is usually at 3 in the morning.  Because CC -- disdainful, independent CC -- actually sleeps snuggled in the crook of my arm, and purrs all night long.  (Though possibly this is simply due to amusement; my partner and I frequently wake up to find that we've somehow been crammed onto his half of the bed, and CC is in the exact middle.  CC weights 9 lbs, remember.  My partner and I weigh about 330 combined.)

It's a lot of fun to have one cat you can always count on for some love, and another cat you can tell great stories about.

My cats do have one thing in common.  They both take care of me when I need it.  When my mood begins to crash, Piglet butts her head against my legs until I start petting her.  She crawls into my lap and rests her head against my chest.  CC normally hates to be picked up, but when I start crying, she rubs against my legs and yells at me until I pick her up.  My cats soothe me.  They remind me that I am not my failures.  When I'm feeling useless, they remind me that they depend on me for survival. I feed them and love them and take care of them, that's good enough for them.  I'm good enough for them.